


Blood, Breath, Bone

by Laylah



Category: Naruto
Genre: Body Part Kinks, Community: kink_bingo, Devotion, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Porn Battle, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the last of his line, the only carrier of this bloodline limit, and he will give every part of himself to the man who sees such potential in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood, Breath, Bone

Orochimaru-sama is so different from his clan. They never wanted to see Kimimaro's power—never wanted to see him at all, only let him out of his cage when they needed him to do what he was told. Orochimaru-sama wants him around all the time. It takes weeks for Kimimaro to get used to having someone so nearby so much of the time. He doesn't mind! And he says so whenever Orochimaru-sama sees him looking exhausted and unsure, and asks if he wants to be left alone. He's grateful. He knows how much Orochimaru-sama has done for him. He doesn't want to be left alone again.

They train together most days. Kimimaro is grateful for that, too: he can feel himself getting stronger, and he knows he needs to be his best if he is to be worthy of Orochimaru-sama's plans. He will be stronger than his clan ever expected him to be. He is the last of his line, the only carrier of this bloodline limit, and he will give every part of himself to the man who sees such potential in him.

In their training ring, he slips his arms free of their sleeves, shrugs his shirt off his shoulders and lets it fall. The chill air prickles over his skin, but the way Orochimaru-sama looks at him is full of warmth, and these clothes are fine enough that he doesn't want to ruin them. Orochimaru-sama holds a sword in one hand, and raises the other to his chest in the sign that means _combat_. Kimimaro mimics the gesture, though he has no blade. Yet.

His body begins to react as soon as Orochimaru-sama moves: bone spikes tear free of his side, expanding from his ribs, stopping the sword's first strike. He draws his own blade from his shoulder, not letting himself wince at the stretch-pull-burn of his bones changing. He can feel the moment when the bone sword in his hand has hardened enough to parry steel, and then he launches an attack of his own.

In the past, he fought because it was what his clan needed of him; now, he fights to please Orochimaru-sama, and that gives his body a lightness that he's never known before. He spins, strikes, slips away from the sword's blows. He avoids the first summoned snake, judging its range, fast enough—barely fast enough!—for its strike to miss. His hand lashes outward, open, fingers extended, a motion he hasn't even considered, and the tiny bones of his fingertips fly free, bursts of sudden pain and regeneration.

One of them draws a thin scarlet line across Orochimaru-sama's cheek.

Kimimaro stumbles, stops; snakes coil around his ankles, weighing him down. His heartbeat pounds and his breath is ragged. He can't look away from that trickle of blood.

Orochimaru-sama smiles, and his eyes glitter gold. "Beautiful," he says. His tongue extends to lap up the blood, and he sheathes his sword before he walks closer. "You're still discovering new uses for that lovely talent of yours." He cups Kimimaro's cheek in one hand, his skin warm from exertion, his thumb brushing the line of Kimimaro's cheekbone. "If only your clan had kept technique scrolls, to give direction to all that talent."

"I will perfect it myself," Kimimaro promises. His body trembles. He _must_ do this. "I will do this for you!"

"I know you will," Orochimaru-sama says. His touch is so gentle. "You are my most dedicated student. My most precious." And then—then he goes down on his knees, ignoring the startled breath Kimimaro takes. He kisses the seal he placed at Kimimaro's throat, and his fingertips follow the curves of Kimimaro's ribs. "Such a perfect body."

Kimimaro's breath hitches in his chest. This is—it's too much, too...how can he possibly be worthy of all the faith Orochimaru-sama has in him? The snakes have been banished at some point when he wasn't paying attention, but he still feels rooted to the spot, unable to move as Orochimaru-sama unties his belt and casts it aside, slides his trousers down his narrow hips and leaves him bare.

"Perfect," Orochimaru-sama tells him again, hands curled around Kimimaro's ankles, stroking the knobs of bone there. His tongue traces collar bone, sternum, the low curve of rib. When his hands slide upward so his thumbs can follow the arches of Kimimaro's hip bones, Kimimaro can't hold back a tiny whimper. Orochimaru-sama laughs, the sound soft and dark, and heat bursts low in Kimimaro's belly. "You give this precious body to me, don't you?" Orochimaru-sama murmurs.

"Yes," Kimimaro says, " _yes_ ," because he's always belonged to other people but only Orochimaru-sama has ever told him he was precious, was perfect. He wants to be worthy of those words.

Orochimaru-sama smiles up at him hungrily and then leans in, swallowing him to the root: Kimimaro is his, only his.


End file.
